Havoc1021
patreon
Rise of the Archon: Book 2, Chapter 75
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 21:00:04 +0000 UTCI should just walk away.
The refrain echoed in my mind for what felt like the hundredth time, whispering its tempting offer into my ears. I knew I should listen to that little, selfish voice, but I could not help myself.
I had first noticed the group about a half-hour earlier. They appeared like a band of travelers setting up camp for the evening beside a quiet, dirt and gravel road. Strange, considering there were several hours left until sunset, but not unwelcome. Weeks of traveling had left me...well, lost. I had packed several things, but a compass and map were not among my supplies.
However, the truth became clear as I drew closer.
There was not one group beside the road but two. The first appeared like traveling merchants or traders, with horse-drawn, covered carts filled with goods. Men, women, and children dressed in heavy, sturdy clothes stood in a cluster, with one in particular having stepped out from the crowd.
The second group was a motley collection of men and women in patchwork clothes. They carried cracked and rusted implements, some weapons, and others repurposed farming tools or bits of laborer's equipment. Their 'armor,' if it could be called that, was little more than bits of leather or pig iron strapped onto their bodies.
I knew the wise choice was to divert off the road again and ignore the whole thing. It would be so much easier to walk away. Intervening would only risk revealing my identity.
Then, I remembered all the times I had walked away from something like this because it was the 'easy' choice.
I sighed and shook my head, sending a mental message to Fortunatus to remain still, and continued walking towards the group.
The first person to notice my approach was one of the bandits. He was half-turned towards the road, likely to watch for any oncoming travelers, and I could see the moment when he spotted me.
The bandit turned, pointing his crossbow in my direction even as he visibly muttered something to his neighbor. That one spoke to the woman beside him, who passed on the message in turn.
Word spread among the bandits quickly until one of them, a tall and surprisingly fit-looking man just a few years my senior, stepped out from the group. He wore the finery of a wealthy merchant, with a flowing coat, shining boots, a silken shirt, and a graceful, curving sword buckled onto his hip.
"Good afternoon, sir!" the man said in a friendly voice. He wore a smile that was kind enough but with a predatory edge.
I stopped about thirty feet from the edge of their group and returned his smile. "Afternoon. Apologies for the intrusion."
"No apologies needed, friend," the man replied, "Sorry to block the road like this. If you give me just a moment, we can clear a path for you to pass."
His demeanor knocked me off balance. Bandits tended not to have such manners. Then again, this one seemed brighter than the average thief. He had probably already drawn the logical conclusion.
I was a teenager traveling alone without any visible equipment or companions. Either I was a mage, or I was hilariously reckless. Sure, he could gamble and hope it was the latter, but why risk it? Better to play it safe.
"In a moment," I said, gesturing towards the traders, "Do you mind explaining what is happening here first?"
The bandit leader looked unfazed. "A friendly disagreement. Nothing you need to bother yourself with, I'm sure."
"I disagree," I said bluntly.
The man's eyes narrowed, and his smile grew a touch colder. "Let's call it a...debt owed. We own this portion of the road, you see. What kind of man would I be if I let every wanderer pass by without paying?"
"You were going to let me pass."
He did not bother answering, but his smile grew even colder. We both knew why he had not demanded my gold and we also both knew we had reached an impasse. I could see several bandits creeping closer and swore I heard the creaking of crossbows as they aimed, ready to attack at a moment's notice.
I did not want to fight them. If anything, I would prefer to talk it out or force them to leave through intimidation. But using my magic might reveal my true identity, and the last thing I needed were rumors spreading about a mage with emerald green mana and dark hair traveling from the south. The odds of it leading back to me were minimal but present.
Again, that little voice tried to tempt me. It told me that getting involved was a mistake. Save my energy, walk away, and let the traders fend for themselves. I had no interest in becoming some great hero of the common folk. If anything, the idea sounded fundamentally unpleasant, like wearing ill-fitting shoes.
My eyes landed on one of the traders, a little girl maybe seven or eight years old. She had a doll clutched in her hands, tears streamed down her face, and she was doing her best to hide behind her mother's legs. Her eyes met mine, and though she did not speak, I could see the unspoken plea.
I let out a low breath, drawing Aether into my lungs. Then, I moved.
My Flicker Step carried me ten feet forward, close enough to reach the nearest bandit. He had been creeping closer, rusted blade clutched in his skeletal hands. I could see his mouth fall open, but he barely had time to inhale before my fist slammed into his face.
I had taken pains to practice throwing a punch, but such talents had gone from laughable to just poor. By itself, they would not count for much, but I was no barroom brawler. I was a mage, and magic could bridge the gap that flesh could not.
Aether flowed through my flesh in rhythmic loops, granting me preternatural strength and speed no ordinary man could match. My Step had given the strike additional momentum, enough to increase the force of my punch even more. Lastly, I had coated the outside of my fist in a weak but functional shield, too diffuse to be visible in the setting sun but durable enough to protect my hand.
The bandit's head snapped backward with a wet crunch, the bones of his face crumpling around my hand. He fell to the ground in a heap, either unconscious or dead, though I could not tell at a glance.
Both groups froze, as did I. It had been so fast. So easy. So...
I pushed down the mixture of emotions that welled up in my chest and moved again, ducking low to pick up the bandit's sword as I closed with the next in line. This one carried an axe, but he was still too stunned by his ally's death to counter my assault. He fell within two strokes as I knocked aside his clumsy guard and split his throat.
If I had my choice, I would have torn them apart at range with my newly made Aether daggers. However, that was not an option. Not only would it give me away, but the bandits had taken care to put themselves between the traders. If I missed, I might strike and kill an innocent.
Still, I had not expected a melee engagement to feel so...easy.
A proper guard could hold me off for a handful of strikes. Warriors like Amelia or Wallace could outmatch me, given the right circumstances. They had formal training, extensive practice, the proper mindset to flourish, and, most importantly, magic that bolstered their skills even more.
These bandits had no such advantages. All they had were numbers, blind aggression, and recklessness. Hardly the sorts of things that won a hopeless battle.
I moved through them like a specter, a thing of nightmares. Each sweep of my hands shattered bone. Every swing of my pilfered blade sliced throats, chopped off hands, or skewered hearts. Once, I lifted a man off the ground with one hand, feeling his esophagus crumple beneath my fingers as I crushed his neck.
The end came almost abruptly. One moment, I was ducking low to disembowel a woman holding a jagged knife the size of her forearm, and the next, I was alone. Well, almost alone.
At least a dozen bodies lay around me, most groaning from their injuries. A few lay still with rapidly spreading pools of crimson around them, and I knew most of the survivors would join their friends within minutes. A
The rest, including their fearless leader, had fled rather than risk their own lives.
I let out a low breath, finding that I was not even winded. My Arcane Body had more that supported my body, making the entire thing...not easy. No, it was worse than that.
Dull.
I had killed before, but never in such a way. It had always been in a rush, a battle too chaotic to think of much else than survival. I had known then that it was my life or theirs, which made the decision easy. But this? This was no battle. It was a massacre.
If I had used my magic, I could have stood there and let the bandits strike me until they collapsed from exhaustion. Wallace's looping technique and my modified mana gathering had made my Armor almost effortless to maintain as long as it remained undamaged. And there was no chance in hell that any of them, besides maybe their leader, could leave so much as a scratch on me.
Dark guilt welled up in my chest, illogical yet wholly expected. What was more unusual was the feeling of joy that rose with it. Something told me that growing numb to such deaths was a dangerous path to follow.
I dropped the rusty sword to the ground and turned, smiling in the direction of the traders. Most of them shrank back, but one, the same man who had spoken with the bandit leader, met my eyes with a stoic nod.
"Thank you, my lord," the man said, kneeling to the dirt and bowing low, "Thank you. Had you not intervened, who knows what might have happened?"
Likely, they would have lost everything they owned, including their lives. Bandits did not always kill, but these ones seemed like they had been doing this for some time. That suggested they avoided leaving anyone alive to tell stories.
I put on the face of a stern but not unkind noble and nodded to the kneeling man. "Stand, please. I would prefer to speak eye to eye."
"Yes, my lord," the man replied, following my command. He looked to be in his early thirties, and I wondered how he had come to lead this group.
"Are you alright?" I asked after a few seconds, trying to exude confidence.
"Yes, my lord," the man nodded, trying to avoid my gaze, "They knocked around a few of us, but nothing serious. Thank the Founders."
"Good. And where are you heading?"
"Hillsvale, my lord. Hoping to rest for a day or two before continuing north."
I had not heard of the town, but that was not unusual. Hundreds of settlements covered Ferris, and no one could be expected to know them all. I almost wanted to come along, if only to get a good night's sleep in a real bed, but I pushed down that impulse with some difficulty.
"Do you know anything about this lot?" I asked, pointing my chin towards the nearest, still-groaning bandit.
"No, my lord. Someone in Hillsave might."
"Right," I nodded, "How far is Hillsvale?"
"A few hours northwest, my lord. We'd hoped to reach it before nightfall, but..."
"You should keep moving then," I replied, "Sunset is too close, but the nearer you get, the safer you should be."
"Of course, my lord," the man bowed his head again, "Would you care to accompany us? I'm sure we can find space to—"
"Thank you, but no," I interrupted, "I have to take care of something."
The man looked ready to protest, and I decided to channel my inner, casually cold noble.
I glared with as much intensity as I could manage, tilting my head back to stare at the man, "Some might say ignoring someone of my stature risks insult. Would you agree?"
The trader paled, and he shook his head. "No, my lord! Please accept my apologies and—"
"Accepted. Go."
The trader bowed again, then turned and began giving orders to the rest of them. They rumbled off after just minutes, seeming quite eager to get as far away from the bandits—or me—as possible.
I watched them go, waiting until they were out of earshot. Then, I turned and glanced around the dying men, searching for one that looked a little better than the rest.
Their leader had escaped, but he seemed cunning. Charismatic. Dangerous. He would play it safe, but only for a time. Soon, he would be back to his old ways, harassing and harming innocents for his own gain.
The least I could do was finish the job I had started.
